Work Text:
I.
Red Son would usually completely ignore MK when drove past him on delivery runs. It didn’t happen very often, to be fair, but Red would opt out of terrorising MK because they simply didn’t have the energy to. Also because it wasn’t really necessary, they were both just trying to go about their day.
This time, though, Red notices something strange. MK doesn’t look like he’s driving. He is, of course, but his eyes are shut, and there looks to be just a bit too much seatbelt around his body.
This makes Red more than a little concerned. No, not concerned, why would Red be concerned about noodle boy? She was just curious. Yeah, curious. That was it. So, curious and nothing else, Red tails the tuk tuk, hopping onto it and sitting down when she gets close enough.
“Noodle boy?” He asks, absolutely not laced with concern.
MK doesn’t hear him, it seems, receiving no response. Instead of repeating herself, Red decides to take a close look at him.
His eyes are shut so tightly it looks like it hurts, it’s a miracle he hasn’t crashed yet. Red supposes it’s because MK knows the routes of the city so well. The most curious part however, is how his seatbelt seems to have quadrupled in length, coiling around most of him except, very pointedly, his chest. One of his hands looks as though it’s desperately trying to cover his chest, but one of the ends of the seatbelt is trying to push it away.
“You’ll never be a boy.”
Red snaps his gaze up to MK’s face, because that was clearly MK’s voice. But his face looks exactly the same, eyes scrunched up painfully, brows furrowed, what looked like the remnants of tears. So where did that voice come from? Why would it say that, anyway?
“It’s funny that you even think that you pass.”
MK’s voice. MK’s mouth doesn’t move.
Is this… MK’s inner voice? Why would Red be able to hear it? Is he truly going mad?
“Stupid little girl.”
Red turns their head to the GPS resting above the driving wheel. “That seems to be where the sound is coming from. But how?” Red leans close to the GPS, inspecting it. She notes how MK passed his destination atleast 10 minutes ago. There’s nothing out of the ordinary about it, it’s just a regular GPS, nothing that would make it speak anything but directions.
“You’re just a tomboy.”
The voice is a lot louder now, definitely coming from the GPS. Red begins to process everything he’s heard the GPS/MK’s inner voice manifested in a GPS, trying to figure out what was troubling MK so perhaps he could help. She should just leave, this is her enemy, but she finds that a part of herself does care about the noodle boy. She’d never admit that to anyone but herself, though.
Suddenly, it dawns on them. MK is trans. His dysphoria must’ve manifested physically. He supposes this is some sort of Monkey King thing, because regular people don’t usually physically manifest any sort of emotion. This is something he’s never seen before, though, so has no knowledge of how to stop it.
Red brings their fist to hover above the GPS, “Sorry noodle boy, I’ll buy you a new one.” He brings his fist down and smashes the screen, hoping that this will dispel the voice.
With that (hopefully) sorted, Red turns to look at MK, still wrapped in his seatbelt, all but his chest which makes a lot more sense now. Red now realises that MK’s chest is considerably larger than she remembers. “Is his binder off?” Red whispers under his breath.
Red ponders what to do for a few minutes, completely at a loss. Carefully, they reach out to tug at the seatbelt, to now avail. They try a little harder, but this only results with the end of the seatbelt that wasn't wrestling MK’s free hand to swat them away.
“Noodle boy.” Red worriedly says, placing a hand on his shoulder.
His eyes snap open at that, looking panicked. “Red Son?” His voice is shaky, and he seems almost a little afraid.
“Noodle boy.” Red repeats, a little happy and simultaneously a little more concerned at MK’s reaction, “How do I get rid of… this.” He says gesturing to the far-too-long seatbelt.
“What are you doing, why are you here?” MK says, his arm seems to be even more desperately trying to cover his chest.
Before Red can respond, the tuk tuk hits something, causing the whole of it to shake, and Red to have a miniature heart attack, “Maybe you should stop this first.” Red probably should’ve forced it to come to a stop earlier, they curse themselves for the oversight.
“Oh, right, ok.” MK says, swerving into an alley and pressing the breaks. “Why are you here?” MK asks again almost immediately after the tuk tuk had stopped.
“I don’t think that’s the most pressing matter here, noodle boy. You are being constricted by your seatbelt, and your GPS was making very transphobic comments towards you. I think the most important thing to do is to fix this quandary, not ask me useless queries.”
“I- I guess. This sort of stuff happens when my negative emotions get the best of me, so I guess get the better of my negativity?”
“Wow. That is so helpful. Let me simply vanquish your rotten thoughts about yourself.” Red deadpans, seriously, does this guy really think that was helpful? She has no idea what she’s supposed to say.
“I’m sorry! I’m not in the best state of mind to be telling someone how to help me right now!”
Well… Red supposes MK does have a point there.
“Ugh, right. I’ll try to help you. This is about your dysphoria right?”
MK nods.
“So… I don’t know, you’re a boy! You look like a boy! You talk like a boy! I didn’t even know you were trans!”
“Wait. You… didn’t know that I was trans?”
“Yes, of course! If you really think that you pass so poorly then you are sorely—”
MK cuts them off, “No, it’s not that. Well, I am kinda struggling with that right now, but like, I literally wear a trans pin all the time.”
Red stares blankly at MK. “You do?”
“Yes? I can’t believe you haven’t noticed it!”
Red, feeling the sudden urge to defend himself, tries to find some reason why she may never have noticed this before. “W-well! It’s not like I’m staring at your body whenever we’re battling! So it makes perfect sense that I’ve never noticed it before.”
“What? That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said!” MK starts to laugh, “It’s so noticeable!”
Red can feel her face heating up at his blindness, embarrassment pooling in her stomach. “Well I-! Oh whatever.” She instantly feels better, however, when she sees that the seatbelt had retracted a little it. “The point is, I didn’t know you were trans, so clearly you pass just fine.”
MK’s laughs start to settle, taking in a few gasps of air before calming down. “I guess you're right. Thanks, Red Son. Your complete ignorance actually helped.”
“I help you and you insult me! I can’t believe this.”
MK laughs again, not as raucous this time, a small chuckle, accompanied by a soft smile. It’s nice seeing him with such a smile after the borderline terrified expression he had just moments before.
“I usually think I pass just fine but… my binder broke this morning and I threw away all my sports bras ages ago. So I had to do deliveries, tits out, and it just, I don’t know. It’s horrible.” MK curls in on himself slightly, lip quivering. The seatbelt pulls back around MK’s body.
“Hey, hey.” Red says, reaching a tentative hand to cup MK’s cheek. “I didn’t even notice you didn’t have a binder on at first. And don’t you dare call me unobservant again.” MK lets out a breathy laugh. “You will always be a boy. Even if you had the biggest boobs on the planet.”
MK laughs louder this time. “You have a really weird way of comforting people.”
“Hey! It’s working, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I suppose so.”
“Exactly! So don’t insult my methods, noodle boy!”
There is silence for a moment, MK leans into Red’s touch, and the seatbelt seems to be reverting back to the length a seatbelt should be.
“So, you don’t have top surgery?” Red asks.
“Yeah, I don’t have the money for it. It was already a lot to get T.” MK lets out a dejected sigh, like he’s accepted that he’ll never be able to afford it.
“Well, what if I paid for it?”
MK perked up at this. “But it's so expensive, why would you do that for me?”
“Call it a business expense. I can’t battle my enemy when he’s not in top form because of some binder now can I? And it is hardly an expense anyway, the Demon Bull family is incredibly wealthy.” Red would never miss out on an opportunity to brag about her family.
“Right. I would like that a lot, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“I suggested it, of course I don’t mind!”
“Ok, then I accept your request.”
“Good.”
Red will never admit that they care about the noodle boy. Only to themselves, and even then, it’s rare, but on this day, Red finds themselves caring irrevocably more about their sworn enemy.
II.
Pigsy hears a crash coming from MK’s room. In an instant, he grabs the mop that’s propped up by the wall, and starts marching up the steps to bash the head in of whoever had broken into his kid’s room.
He kicks the door open and shouts, “Whoever you are, get ready to get a good beatin’!” He scans the room, realising that there’s no people in the room except MK. Upon closer inspection however, he realises that MK isn’t alone, it’s just not the break-in he was expecting.
There’s two shadowy figures towering over MK, who’s huddled into a ball, one reminiscent of a woman and the other a man.
“Kid what’s going on?” He asks, receiving no response. He approaches cautiously, and realises the shadow figures are whispering something to MK that becomes barely audible the closer he gets.
“You are a terrible, horrible child, you know that? We were nothing but kind to you, and you acted like we’d crushed your world. And you have the gall to be happier here? Bah! You should be ashamed.”
From what they said, Pigsy can gather that these are MK’s parents. His biological ones, atleast. Not his real ones, not in the way that mattered.
Pigsy is worried about how this happened though. It must be some sort of Mystical Monkey Business, what else could it be? But he’s never heard of shadow parents in any of the stories. He thinks for a moment, realising that this must be some sort of materialisation of MK’s fears or doubts or something.
He wonders how he’s supposed to stop this. How does he expel shadows? Shadows that aren’t even real at that. He decides maybe it’s better to just get MK to stop listening to them instead.
So he walks over to MK, bending down with a crack of his bones, and places a firm hand on his shoulder. “MK? Kid?” He doesn’t even so much as look up.
“Is this who you call your father now?” the shadow parents sneer, in perfect unison. “The most he can do is teach you how to cook noodles. He’s not even worth being an uncle!”
“Now you listen here, you shadow poor-excuses-for-parents, atleast I didn’t throw him out on the streets, eh! Atleast I fed him, and clothed him, and kept him safe. Atleast he’s happy with me.” Maybe there was no point in going off on a fake manifestation of MK’s good-for-nothing parents, but it sure did make him feel good. He’s been wanting to have a word with them ever since he found a tiny MK cowering in a crook in his kitchen. Such a sweet boy, trembling and thin because he’d been on the streets with nothing to eat for a week. No-one who does such a thing to their child deserves to be called a parent. So even if these aren’t the actual guys, he’ll chew them out anyway.
MK looks up now, tears streaming down his face, “Pigsy?”
“I’m here kid.” He looks back down to MK, giving him the kindest smile he can muster, “I’ll keep you safe from these guys.” He sends a glare to the shadows.
“Pigsy-” MK chokes on a sob, “They won’t just- just go a-away.”
“How do we get rid of them, then?”
“I-I don’t really know, exactly. They’re fr-from my brain.”
Pigsy wraps an arm around MK and pulls him closer to him in a way that shielded him from his shadow parents.
“I guess I’ll have to protect you from your own brain, then.” However he’s supposed to do that. He’s never heard any Monkey King stories where his own brain creates real life manifestations of his fears. He supposes that that’s not the coolest of stories.
“Hey, shadow guys! What sorta parent terrorizes their child, huh? Berating has not been found to be a very good parenting tactic.”
“Shut up, you swine.” The shadows spit. “He’s a horrid child and deserves to be treated as such.”
“See this is what I’m talkin’ about. Now child is ever gonna love you if this is how you speak to ‘em. You gotta love ‘em, see, and then you’ll get that love back.” MK pushes closer to him, moving his hands from where they’d been resting on his knees to wrap around Pigsy’s waist.
“We loved him. We just told him the truth, that he’s an insolent, disrespectful little boy.” The shadows move closer looming over MK. Pigsy pulls him closer to his chest.
“If you don’t show your love then he ain’t gonna feel it is he? MK deserves to be loved, cared for, built up. Not punched down. He’s a great kid, I’m proud to call him my son.”
He feels MK cry against him, and for whatever reason, he feels as though these aren’t tears of sorrow. The shadows are less visible now.
“He is not your son.” They snarl. “He is ours and will always be ours.”
Pigsy scoffs, “You clearly didn’t want him. He’s happy now. He has people who treat him the way deserves to be treated.”
The shadows are rapidly fading away now, barely visible in the dimly lit room.
“He is not worth caring about! He will only be a burden to you!” They almost scream, knowing that their time is almost up.
“MK is worth all the care I can give.” Pigsy says, absolutely resolute in his words.
The shadows are completely gone now, disappeared to some dark corner of MK’s mind. MK does not move, so neither does Pigsy, they sit there, on the messy floor of MK’s room, loving each other silently.
“Thanks, Pigsy.” MK says after a while, still unmoving.
“It was nothin’, kid. I’d fight anyone who says you aren’t worth loving.”
“Did you mean it, when you called me your son?” MK’s moving now, removing himself from Pigsy’s chest to look him in the eyes. His eyes are dry.
“Of course.”
In an instant tears are falling down MK’s face, and he’s smiling wide and bright. “Thanks, you’re the best dad ever.”
And if Pigsy sheds a few tears too, well it was too dark in MK’s room to see.
III.
When MK came to train that morning, Wukong had told him to plant some flowers because Wukong wanted to liven up the place a little. MK didn’t understand because the place was ‘already full of them’ but who is he to judge the great and powerful Handsome Monkey King, Great Sage Equal to Heaven? The more flowers the merrier, Wukong had said. Anywho, since it was just a chore (though Wukong would never tell MK that), Wukong thought it would be perfectly fine to doze off — although he would’ve done that anyway.
So what was his surprise when he was interrupted from his nap by the sounds of struggling. What in the world could MK possibly be struggling against? Had the flowers come alive to attack him?
Wukong stands up from his cloud, hands on hips, ready to berate MK about his rude interruption, before realising that maybe that’s not the best idea.
As it turns out, the flowers had come to life.
Their roots were constricting around MK, holding him in place. MK himself was writhing trying to escape from their tight grasp.
Wukong knows what this is. It had only happened a few times to him before, but sometimes, when his negative emotions got the better of him, they’d become real. He never considered that this could happen to MK too. Inheriting the Monkey King’s powers means inheriting all of his powers, even the less favourable ones, unfortunately.
Wukong hops off of his cloud and walks to MK’s side. He’s never had to coax anyone else out of this state, and the instances where he’d coaxed himself were already few and far between, so he was at a bit of a loss. He supposes that it’s much like having to bring someone out of a regular panic attack, especially considering there doesn’t seem to be any sort of voice, which Wukong can remember encountering.
"Hey, bud? You alright?" Wukong asks. It’s a bit of a dumb question, really, the very nature of this situation means that MK is decidedly not alright.
"Monkey King?" MK responds — a response, which is great — but it doesn't do much to allow Wukong to ignore how genuinely surprised MK sounds, like he didn't expect Wukong to come help him in a million years. "I thought you were asleep." The roots look like they grow a little looser, before tightening again.
"Yeahh, well," Wukong scratches the back of his neck, before clapping his hands together, "I'm awake now! So… what's wrong? How do I help?'
MK looks down at this floor, this shift allows for Wukong to see a flower that's following MK's ear. It's a beautiful peach colour with large petals. Wukong realises that there is a voice speaking to MK. He just can't hear it.
"It's dumb." MK almost whispers, quiet enough to be lost to the roots and taken to the centre of the Earth to be burnt with all other unheard words if Wukong weren’t listening for the response.
"It's not dumb, kid, especially if this is happening. C'mon, tell me what's going on up in that brain of yours."
MK looks up again, but avoids Wukong’s eyes, like they might crumble him to dust. "Have— has this happened to you, too?"
Wukong considers this for a moment, obviously this has happened to him, but maybe that's not the answer MK wants. Maybe the cause of all this is because MK feels like he's not unique to Monkey King — their titles were basically identical after all. Wukong decides it's probably just better to tell him the truth.
"Yeah, yeah it has. But that doesn’t answer my question, kid."
MK is silent for a moment before sighing, "Ok. I just— I just feel like I'm not good enough for this. Not good enough to be your successor, or to wield your staff, or, or, to be a hero. For any of it."
As MK speaks, the roots grow almost insurmountably tighter around him, squeezing so hard Wukong is shocked MK hasn't burst from the force yet.
Wukong realises in that moment that MK is much like Atlas, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders when perhaps the weight of himself was already too much to bear. MK shouldn't need to hold the world to his chest and promise to protect it — but he does.
Wukong knows that this is his fault, and he can't take it back now. Telling MK that maybe you shouldn’t wield my staff would only make it worse. So all Wukong can do is convince MK that he is strong enough, that the world loves him, that it is grateful that he is carrying it on his shoulders.
“Kid, listen. You are good enough. I made tons of mistakes and did a lot of terrible stuff with my powers, I'm sure you’ve read all about it. You're already doing leagues better than me.”
“But you're always giving me these stupid chores! And— and you sleep through them anyway! It's like you knew you picked wrong and you're just giving up." At the beginning, MK's voice was raised, anger directed to Wukong in a way it never had been before. But as MK continued on, his voice tapered off into something more muted, like the fireworks in his voice had gotten lost in the night sky.
A pang of guilt. No, not just a pang, a full on explosion of remorse in his chest that threatened to blow him away. Of course MK would think that Wukong didn't care about him because of how he was acting during training. Of course. Wukong is the dumbest monkey alive.
“Kid, I'm sorry. I've been a terrible mentor, I know. I wouldn't have chosen you as my successor if I didn't believe in you. I’m proud of you, bud.” Wukong puts one of his arms around MK, pulling him into a tight hug, pressing him against his chest, the other arm he brought to rest atop MK’s head, beginning to slowly card through his hair. “I’m so proud of you.”
As they stand there, he can feel the roots moving, whether they're coiling around tighter or releasing their hold, Wukong can't tell, but he really hopes they're untangling.
He feels MK’s arms shift, and slowly, tentatively, wrap their way around Wukong’s waist, returning the hug. Meaning, the roots weren’t holding him down anymore. Wukong looks up slightly, to see the roots slithering away, back into the ground.
Wukong smiles, a small lilt of the lips that holds the joy of an entire universe, and rests his head atop MK’s. “I’ve never doubted choosing you as my successor, never forget that.”
"Ok. I won't." MK responds, and Wukong can tell that he's smiling.
The flowers smiled with him.